


Who's Scared?

by go_we_li_s_gi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, i refuse to tag this anything meaningful, it doesnt deserve it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:29:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/go_we_li_s_gi/pseuds/go_we_li_s_gi
Summary: it's canon x oc, it's star wars, shameless projecting of how much i want to smooch oscar isaac, and it's ridiculously long with minimal effort. or as i like to call it, My Trash. my friends held me at gunpoint to post this. not actually. im just embarrassed. my friend actually did want me to post this so yeah.word count: *2,539.* yup. over two thousand words of pure self indulgence. take me as an example for destressing, self-care, whatever.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Who's Scared?

The aftermath of this battle was somewhat uneventful. The Resistance base was quiet and no bases from the First Order reported as being active, so today was a rare and elusive day off, and what better way to take your day off than to work more? Poe had decided he wanted to get to fixing some damage on his X-Wing. It was nothing terrible, but it was still nice to have an X-Wing in working order rather than semi-functional. His work time was cut in half on account of the little orange droid friend lending him help. It didn’t take but 30 minutes to make the repairs in all. 

In a different part of the base, far from the hangar for the Resistance’s X-Wings, was where Sao worked on her ship. She worked on her own, without a BB unit to assist her, on much more damage than Poe had just fixed.

* * *

“Don’t go out there in a cruiser,” Poe had warned her before the battle.

“Then what do I go out in?” she had bit back. He had raised his arms in mock defeat and looked around frantically before shouting his response. One hand was empty and grasped at the air while the other held his helmet.

“I don’t know! Maybe just don’t! You’re not equipped to do this, much less in your cruiser and you need to be safe!” He had then put on his helmet in a huff and the sound of his boots joined the clomping rush of the other pilots.

But like the impulsive fool she was, she went out on her cruiser, weapons wielded haphazardly. She didn’t know how to operate a fighting vessel, but damned if she didn’t join the fight. She was left relatively unscathed, but the cruiser not so much. She was practically dragged back to base by Poe himself.

* * *

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” she heard him behind her, and she whipped around to look at him. Speak or even think of the devil and he’ll show up, it seemed. He stood with his arms sternly crossed. His brows furrowed down, his eyes intense. She remained unbothered by it, turning back to her work before hearing a familiar chirping at her feet. She looked down to see BB-8 beeping hopefully, looking to help with repairs somehow. 

This felt strange to her. Previously she had kicked this droid, forced it into places it did not want to go, and generally rejected all attempts at kindness that it tried to express. And yet BB-8 still was friendly, open to interacting with her.

She gently placed her boot on its body, enough to push it away but not so much as to damage or hurt feelings.

“Leave us alone, BB-8.” she wasn’t resentful when she said this, referring to the droid by his unit name instead of just “droid” like she would before. BB-8 looked at Poe for confirmation. Poe nodded solemnly and the droid whirred understandingly, gliding out of the room, leaving Poe and Sao to their own devices. She turned to him, resting her arms behind her on the nearly fixed wing of her cruiser. She wore gloves that were too big for her.

“So you wanted to talk to me about the other day?” she questioned. He walked up to her from across the room, his arms still crossed.

“I did. But in general, I think that you’re too rash about your decisions. You—” 

She laughed at him.

“Look who’s talking! The man who took out the cannons of a Dreadnought at the cost of other people’s lives?” she scoffed, pointing at him, accusational while she spoke. He fell silent.

With hesitance, he spoke once more.

“...I see. You... talked to Leia about that.”

“Yes, I did.” she quipped. “Leia was very adamant about defending you, Maker knows why. But if you wanna talk about being rash and impulsive, how about we talk about your decision to disobey orders from the top _ again _ when we were fighting? You followed _ my _orders on where to fire, not Leia’s.”

“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place. The fact that your idea was brilliant has nothing to do with it.” He said. Sao rolled her eyes, turning back to her work, attempting to screw the last panel of metal onto the wing. She was propped up on a stool to reach the top. She was taller than him for the first time like this. He had to crane his neck to look at her.

“So you admit that my plan was brilliant?”

“...Yes. But it still has no bearing on the fact that you endangered—”

“So when you disobey orders and cost people on your side their life, it’s justified, but I only put my own life on the line and I’m irredeemably terrible?”

“It’s different and you know it! You’re a civilian, a person we are sheltering, not an actual registered pilot and fighter in the resistance!”

_ And I still took out a Dreadnought with less blood spilt and got you your day off, fucko. _She thought. But for the first time, she held back her sharp tongue. She knew he was right, but she also knew without her no critical blow would have been made. So she just rolled her eyes again.

“Let’s just agree you don’t want me to get hurt because you don’t want to lose your chance with me.”

“My _ chance? _” his solemn front he tried to uphold was dropped, knowing what she meant but not really wanting to believe that was really the only reason she considered herself worthy of worry.

“Yeah, your chance.” she confirmed, looking down at him as she bent over trying to reach some internal circuit. While she did need to, she made a point to exaggerate the action. He wasn’t one to stare, but Sao made it difficult. While undeniably looking good through her pants, he hoped to god she knew she had more value than just that one piece of her. He rolled his eyes, his arms still crossed, but now he just leaned on the side of the cruiser. He leaned on the painted portion, a chipped version of ATLAS in pink. Her little cruiser had more personality than any ship he had ever been in. It was almost cartoonishly girly and vintage. The pink paint on the outside of her ship definitely rendered it impossible for warfare, let alone smuggling or bounty hunting or anything that earned you money in these times.

“Do you take _ anything _ seriously?” He said, no malice, only curiosity in his tone.

“No.” she said jokingly. He smirked up at her. Luckily for her, the tasteless joke was more endearing than reprehensible to him.

Abruptly, she yelped in pain as she swiftly removed her leather gloves and tossed them across the room. She sank to her haunches so she could sit on the stepstool.

“Stupid!” she yelped, directed at herself or the gloves Poe couldn’t tell. She put the back of her hand to her mouth, her lips clasping around something there before drawing away. She spit in the other direction, a clink audible but not noticed by Poe. Her pink lips were lightly blotted with red on the inner parts when she drew them away.

Poe, concerned once more, turned to her, letting his arms hang by his side now.

“What happened?” he asked, glancing at the back of her hand to see the bead of blood overflow and trickle down the side of her hand meekly before she licked it away again.

“A piece of shrapnel in the leather. I should have known. I took them from another pilot’s locker.”

“You stole?” he smirked.

“I _ borrowed.” _ she emphasized, cursing under her breath.

Poe, taking part of yet another rash decision he wasn’t sure he would regret, crossed to the front of the stepstool where she faced. Climbing up one step to be on level height with her, he took her hand in his. Immediately he noticed the difference in their hands. Hers were so small -- pale, moisturized, soft. They looked manicured. His were calloused and tanned, the fingers were so broad compared to hers. He took the back of her hand to his lips, gently kissing the wound.

At first she seemed so flustered she couldn’t draw away. She stared down at him. The kiss was over as soon as it started, and he looked up at her when it was over. She didn’t believe what she was seeing. His eyes were blown out and soft, no longer carrying the sternness he had when he first came here, to her. They were the softness she saw in him the first time they met when he made a feeble attempt at being undercover. They were the softness she saw when he hugged BB-8 or Finn or another pilot after a stressful mission. But he smiled and now they had layers past the softness: the glee of a victory when he pumped his fist in the air, when he flew his X-Wing and took out cannons. She could imagine this face when he succeeded in dismantling the Dreadnought. She saw all these layers and wondered what he saw in her. And she quickly realized, he felt happy that this rash plan succeeded, telling her she wasn't doing a good job of concealing the overwhelming nervousness she felt now.

She drew her hand away, disgusted with herself. How in the galaxy were domestic thoughts becoming second nature to her?

“Don’t do that to me.” she feebly tried to make her voice level, but it came out shaky and as nervous as she felt.

“Do what?” He smirked now, the smug bastard. She glanced down at her hand. The cut was closing up.

“You _ know _what. No one has done that to me.” 

“Really? No one?” he asked. She shook her head to confirm that no one had made her feel like that before. “I would think that you were used to a kiss on the hand, your worship.”

At this she scowled genuinely, slapping his shoulder.

“Not only is he cocky, he’s a smartass. Don’t ever call me that again.” he rolled his eyes.

“Sure, Sao.” He gripped the sides of the ladder to steady himself.

She sighed, rubbing at her temples like she had a headache.

“You make me so crazy sometimes,” she groaned, which made Poe quirk an eyebrow.

“Maybe you stress yourself out when you try and keep any kind of relationship with me at bay.”

She scoffed yet again, looking around like what he was saying was the most absurd thing she had ever heard. She stood up and turned her back on him. He advanced to the second rung of the ladder.

“Come on,” he tried. “At least _ sometimes _you think I could be Mr. Right.”

“Yeah, maybe. When you’re not trying too hard.” she tried to warm up to this, this domestic banter she wasn’t used to. It felt right, like he would say, but so unusual. It felt almost like a new leather glove. Warm and comfortable and fitting better than the last pair but still needing to be broken in.

“You wanna know what I think?” he was still smirking.

“What? What do you think?”

“I think,” he paused for flair. “That you’re scared of this.”

Hitting the nail right on the head, it seemed. He advanced to the third step, then on the final platform. There was enough room for there to be space between them. Their actual heights were honored by the level surface, her tiny stature becoming apparent by the second. He didn’t bridge the gap between them, allowing space for her to have control.

“Oh, please.” she scoffed, stepping backwards.

“It’s true!” he exclaimed, serious now. “I think you hate being tied down to one thing because it makes you vulnerable. You don’t take anything seriously, you said so yourself. You’re scared if you slow down and have a specific goal for more than a day, you’ll get caught by the First Order or a crazy ex or something else terrible will happen to you. Even when you really, truly want something, you hold yourself back from it. You can’t like that way of thinking. Of _ living _.”

She stared at him, unblinking and frozen in place. He looked down at her, the sternness returning, but only mildly.

“I don’t know what exactly you think I can do to you, but I promise you that there’s no reason for you to be scared of me. Of this.”

She knew he was right. She knew that he wouldn’t and couldn’t hurt her. She knew she wanted this bond with him more than anything. But she wasn’t scared. She _ wasn’t. _ Not of him, at least. How could he ever think she feared him the way she feared death, a cage, the genocide of her culture, anything worth being afraid of? He was a hotshot pilot, no doubt about it, but _ fearful? _He was everything beautiful and full of fire and impulsive decisions and cute banter and charismatic grins and stormy eyes, he was everything that she loved in the universe wrapped up into one man. She’d show him that, damn it.

Before he could tell what was happening, Poe felt some force pulling him forth to her. His feet skidded on the platform of the stepstool before he landed in front of her. Her hand was outstretched, her palm open, and she brought her other hand up with it, trailed both her hands up his orange flightsuit before gripping it, balling up the fabric at his chest. He was taken aback. Confused. She was force sensitive? How much more about her did he have yet to learn?

“Who’s scared now?” she smirked this time, gazing up at him the same way he did when he kissed her hand. He realized he must look more scared than he’s ever looked. He laughed breathily, letting it go as he leaned down and took his lips to hers. He felt her arms wrap around the back of his neck, heard her sigh as they pulled apart for not even a second. He had been waiting for this, and so had she. The hotness of their breaths passed between two lungs, the gentle kiss revealing differences to their lips similar to their hands. His were chapped and hers were soft, but they fit perfectly nevertheless. He felt grounded, earthy, in the best possible way, and she herself like the open cosmos - boundless, seeking, but comforting. He reached to touch her waist, drawing her closer, kneeling to reach her lips hungrily.

“BB-8, you better bring me here for something good.” said a voice, a raspy but warm and firey voice that echoed in the hallway outside. They both startled, drawing away from each other but still holding hands, glancing to the doorway that was left open carelessly. Beeps and boops responded to General Organa’s statement. Poe looked at the door, then down at Sao, who laughed breathlessly at the situation, slapping his chest playfully. The way her lips stretched and her eyes closed made him happy, made him less tense, made him laugh a little too.

**Author's Note:**

> "maybe just don't," - poe dameron, a galaxy far far away


End file.
